#and when did you become a notary public

[nolanhattrick]

guy that notarized my birth certificate sex marker change request form looked and sounded exactly like patrick kane. patrick what are you doing here

[itsuki-minamy]

"K – LETTER STORY"

BLUE: "THE TESTAMENT OF REISI MUNAKATA"

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Enomoto discovered the corrupt file in a corner of the cloud while working to restore the system that had been trampled by "Jungle". Because the virus spread by "Jungle" remained a minefield on the public and private network, it was necessary for "Scepter 4" to shut down the network, re-clean the directory, and completely destroy any suspicious files there.

After carefully isolating the corrupted file and restoring it, it turned out to be a video file. When he checked the file's path, he discovered that it had been uploaded from Seiun's bedroom.

"Fushimi-san. What is this?"

"Eh?"

Fushimi approached Enomoto's seat.

"I'll try to reproduce it."

Unusually, Munakata was shown wearing casual civilian clothing, rather than a uniform or kimono. He shows him sitting at his desk in his room in Seiun's dormitory from the front. The date and time are just after his dismissal as director of the fourth legislative office.

Munakata, who was sitting at his desk with his fingers intertwined, opened his mouth.

[I leave you this letter on video in case I don't come back.]

Without saying a word, Fushimi placed a hand on the side of Enomoto's PC and leaned in to look at the screen. Enomoto stepped back a little and gave the place to Fushimi.

[A separate notarial document on the inheritance of private property has been preserved. I am a mediocre official, so I don't leave much wealth.]

Munakata had a mocking smile on his face that he couldn't read, whether he was serious or joking.

"Fushimi-san, this is..."

"It's the boss's will."

Enomoto swallowed at what Fushimi said with an emotionless face. Neither of them asked to stop watching, but they continued.

[The fact that there are people watching this letter on video means that I did not return. Did they accomplish what they were supposed to do or did they fail and allow the world to fall into chaos? In the latter case, all members withdrew, disbanded, returned to private life, and became normal individuals. This will be my last order.

Even if it is the former, I hope that social order is maintained even if I am absent. In fact, it can be said that the reason for being of "Scepter 4" has become ingrained in the social system even though I am no longer needed as an individual.

Awashima-kun, I trust that you will handle the official consequences without omissions. I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything. I will take Zenjo-san and Fushimi-kun with me. I needed someone to take care of the rest and I couldn't think about you. I'm sure you have many things to tell me.]

Munakata hit Awashima's "what he meant" with a single punch. He felt dizzy as he looked at Munakata's blurry face with red and swollen cheeks.

[Also, I should explain to you about Fushimi-kun here. I think he will survive because I take measures to bring him back alive, but I don't think he is the type to explain himself.]

Even after the incident, Munakata verbally explained the fact that Fushimi was infiltrated into "Jungle". If Munakata hadn't returned alive, everyone would surely have had a misunderstanding.

"I'm glad you're safe... Both the boss and Fushimi-san."

Feeling relieved once again, Enomoto murmured in a wet voice. Fushimi snorted.

"That was a boring suicide note. I thought he would say something about his personal life that he would never say if he were still alive, but being a "public figure" is what makes him a real person."

Perhaps it was Enomoto's desire to say something that seemed like a curse to hide his embarrassment. As Fushimi looked away from the screen and was about to get up from his seat, Munakata in the video continued.

[In other words, I would like to say that the discussion with Fushimi-kun that day was also scripted, but you said it quite well, Fushimi-kun. Was I defeated by Otori Seigo? What do you mean by not saying anything? You use interesting vocabulary. Completely beaten? Hoho... Do I want to become Otori Seigo?]

Munakata rested his chin on his intertwined fingers and smiled.

Fushimi clicked his tongue vigorously.

"Don't take it seriously. You said much more."

"Wasn't there a script for that?"

"Hey, I was just following orders to infiltrate "Jungle" by any means necessary in case the Christmas operation failed."

"Hehe. This is a communication between Fushimi-kun and me."

Enomoto suddenly heard a voice behind him and jumped into his chair. Fushimi looked back indifferently.

Munakata was standing there, again wearing the fourth section chief's uniform, which was different from the one in the video.

"Sorry, I found a file while I was working."

"I'm going to delete it. It's no longer needed, so I'll delete it completely without a trace."

While Enomoto was quick to make excuses, Fushimi said calmly and without hesitation.

"Yes. Please delete it. It is no longer necessary."

Munakata nodded and smiled with some satisfaction. Enomoto thought it was a little strange that he had gone to the trouble of repeating his intention, but he said goodbye to Munakata as he left the station and said, "Thank you for your hard work.". His beautiful, broad blue back disappeared into the hallway.

If he were a private citizen and asked to protect what was most important to him, he thought about what he would have protected. Well, he doesn't have a girlfriend, so his family at home, his hobby collection, etc... No. He thinks he stayed back and did the best he could, even in a small way, to maintain order and protect the others citizens who had fallen into chaos. In fact, all his colleagues in the Special Forces did it as a matter of course.

Even in Munakata's absence, they would create an orderly, common-sense society in which each person acted to protect "what is most important to each person" based on his own judgment.

It has been proven that Munakata's soul was already incorporated into the BIOS of the basic system running "Scepter 4".

Enomoto deleted Munakata's will, which was no longer necessary.

[talisidekick]

I need your help...

If you don't know me, hello, I'm Accalia, I go by Tali Sidekick online on Youtube, Instagram, and on the rarest of occasions Twitch. I'm a 29 year old transgender woman from Canada, who came out and began socially and medically transitioning in 2021. I stream largely on Youtube and on the rare occasion I make videos (it's been over a year since I last did that).

I could use your help affording my legal name change. I've been trying to afford it myself but I'm unable to for reasons I'll get into below. The link is in my blog description, but I'll post it here:

Recently, while walking home from work (I don't make enough to afford public transit or my own vehicle or a bicycle) I got attacked by a middle-aged man in a dimly lit residential neighbourhood. I got away, and thankfully I didn't give him enough time to do more than grab me by the arm. However, I had to file a police report, which gave me two options: use my legal name which at current is my deadname (ie. a name I no longer wish to use) which would be distressing to say the least, or submit it anonymously. I chose the latter which unfortunately does little besides let the public know that someone dangerous with a vague description is in their area. I wish I could have put my name on that report but using my legal name as it stands now is ... I can't.

To add to this, I was saving up, but unfortunately the student loans I owe decided to charge me during an appeal process (they weren't supposed to) and when the charge partially bounced they denied my appeal (which isn't supposed to happen under the contract agreement I signed) because of "outstanding payments". The appeal process also only looked at my gross income for one month, specifically the month I got paid 3 times in (it happens only once a year) and decided to combine all three payments into an equal 2 and evaluated my paycheck at around 25/hr when I only make 16/hr and has thus denied me reduced loans payment (I'm working on this but it's adding to my stress). So at current, the $300 I had extra got eaten by the National Student Loans Services Centre (NSLSC) again and from previous experience even though I should be reimbursed once this is cleared up, I won't be.

I would have also had more (remember that extra third paycheck?) but my health insurance stopped covering me because despite being signed up to a provincial pharmacy program they decided I wasn't, and forced me to buy my hormones and ADHD meds out of pocket. They only -just- reinstated coverage, but getting reimbursed will take over a month possibly 2.

As such, I have exactly $48 in savings and $7 in my basic checking account.

I want to get my name changed, I've been trying for over 2 years, and it's been impossible. Every time I have the money to spare, the NSLSC eats it and doesn't give it back, some medical thing comes up, or some unforseen cost rears its head and consumes my meager savings. The cost averages out to about $450 because it requires Finger Printing for a background check, Notary Fees, Processing Fees, and Reprinting Fees for my Birth Certificate, Drivers License, and Marriage License.

And if the $450 goal is exceeded, any excess getsput towards affording the $6000 surgery cost of getting SRS/GRS (Sex Reassignment Surgery/Gender Reassignment Surgery). I have until December next year before my government will no longer cover the cost of the surgery supposedly.

If I can get help here, I really want all my legal doccuments to read "Llorelei Accalia [Lastname]". I'm so tired of having to explain to people that I'm transgender because the name, face, and (somehow) voice don't match.

Currently at:

$50/$450

[todaysdocument]

12-year-old Carolyn King fought for a spot on her local Little League team, despite the national Little League organization prohibiting girls from playing. She brought her suit to federal court. 

Dr. Louis Kivi confirmed that baseball was not any more dangerous to girls than it was to boys on June 27, 1973 (p. 1, 6).

Record Group 21: Records of District Courts of the United States Series: Civil Case Files File Unit: Carolyn King, by Gerald King, her Next Friend, Ypsilanti Community American Little League, and the City of Ypsilanti v. Little League Baseball, Inc.

Transcription: 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

IN THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT FOR THE

EASTERN DISTRICT OF MICHIGAN

SOUTHERN DIVISION

CAROLYN ANN KING, by GERALD W. KING, her next friends, YPSILANTI COMMUNITY AMERICA LITTLE LEAGUE an Unincorporated Michigan Association THE CITY OF YPSILANTI, a Michigan Public Body Corporation.

Plaintiffs.

Vs.  Case No. 40304

LITTLE LEAGUE BASEBALL, INCORPORATED A Federal Corporation, S.B. STANTION, Agent for Little League Baseball.

Defendants.

The Deposition of DR. LOUIS P. KIVI, a witness herein, taken for the purpose of discovery in the above entiled cause at 3131 Professional Drive, in the City of Ann Arbor, Michigan, on Wednesday, June 27, 1973, commencing at or about the hour o 7:00 o'clock, P.M., before Richard L. Nizza, a Notary Public in abd for the Country of Macomb acting in Washtenaw.

APPEARANCES:

FREATMAN, BARR & ANHUM

(By: John M. Barr)

105 Pearl Strees

Ypsilanti, Michigan 48197

PLAINTIFF'S EXHIBIT 5

6-29-73

HURON REPORTING SERVICE

761-5328

[page 2]

A Twentyfour to eight.

Q And did some of the sons play in little league ball?

A I just had one.

Q And did you become familiar with the game and the way it is played and the equipment, and what is necessary and so on?

A Yes, sir.

Q And when was that that you became familiar with it?

A That was about 1960.

Q Okay. And based on your acquaintanceship with the game and your treatment of the patients that you have mentioned and your training and so on Doctor, would you have an opinion as to whether or not it would be dangerous or more dangerous for girls to play little league baseball then it would be for boys to play little league baseball, assuming there ages to be between ten and twelve?

A I think that I would say it would make no difference what sex they are. It makes a difference in how strong they are, what kind of child they are.

Q Can you say, as a generality, that one sex would be stronger or weaker then another sex at this age?

A I think there would be very little difference.

Q Do you have an opinion as the children grow older

-9-

HURON REPORTING SERVICE

761-5328

[mask131]

Simple facts about Ancient Egypt (2)

Last time, we talked about generalities - history, geography, pharaohs, government... Today, let’s look at some of the main social classes and jobs in Ancient Egypt!

As I said before - warning, these are oversimplified and general facts for a short and easy introduction and comprehension to Ancient Egypt. These are not in-depths studies or analysis, and I might have gotten things wrong, so beware!

SCRIBES

# Scribes, from the Latin “scribere” (to write) were public writers: they were tasked with redacting administrative documents, with the job of accountants of the State, but they were also tasked with writing things such as letters, poems or fictional tales. The job of a scribe went from father to son, and every future scribe had to undergo a very strict and difficult apprenticeship. To be a scribe was a very envied position, for it was a privilege given only to boys – and to the wealthiest of boys! The material of the scribe was quite simple, all contained in a wooden case: there was just a reed pen, and two blocks of ink, one red and one black – to write, the scribe plunged the tip of his reed pen into water, and then rubbed it against either the black or red ink-block.

# Because ink was we know it today didn’t exist back then in Egypt – their “ink” was actually blocks of compact powder. Black ink was created with soot or crushed coal, whereas red ink was created with ochre. Similarly, the Ancient Egyptians did not write on paper but on papyrus – a type of material that shared its name with the type of Nile-reed it was created from. (Fun fact, the name “paper” does come from “papyrus”). Creating papyrus was done by cutting and peeling the papyrus-reed into thin slices, that were then gorged with water, placed in crosses layered on top of each other, and then brutally hit with a hammer until it became one uniformed page (the sap of the reed and the water fused together to form a sort of “glue” holding the stripes together). Finally, the page was thinned down, and smoothed with wooden items.

# Papyrus was however very costly. So, to not lose all of one’s money, Ancient Egyptians wrote for every day needs on pottery fragments or wooden planks covered in plaster. Pupils in schools for example wrote on broken pieces of bowls or vases. The papyrus, so precious, was kept exclusively for law texts and religious texts. To create 5 scrolls of papyrus, of roughly 10 meters each, a man had to work for a whole year!

# Most scribes worked for the government: one of their job was to do note down the state and quantity of the harvests each year before calculating the taxes based on the amount of harvest. They were also the accountants of the state, as well as the ones charged with writing down the laws and the orders of ministers. Other scribes rather worked for temples, where they engraved magical incantations on amulets ; and a third group acted as clerks in tribunals.

# Learning to become a scribe might look easy, since what you need to do was just copy texts all day long… But in truth it was a very hard thing! Our alphabet only has two dozen letters or so – the Egyptian scribes had to learn thousands of different signs to write down the texts, and they had to learn how to write them on every material possible. If you wanted to be a scribe, you had to go a “scribe school” – pupils usually went there are the age of ten, and left at fifteen. After these five years of studies, the scribes had to undergo an internship of five years in either the administration, in a temple or with a notary. After this internship, would-be-scribes had a final exam – and it was only then they could become certified and testified scribes, at twenty years old. Scribe school was notably a very harsh and unpleasant place – a common saying among scribe teachers was “Students have ears in the back, and these ears only listen when you hit them”. Yes, corporal punishment was a standard method of teaching in these schools – if students didn’t pay attention, spoke with each other instead of copying their texts, or wrote a hieroglyph wrong, they were immediately beaten up with a stick. In fact, to prevent the students of scribe schools from leaving unsupervised, the teachers attached to their ankles wooden blocks! Yes, just like the cartoon prisoner with the iron ball around their ankle!

# All scientists were scribes, but not all scribes were scientists (or scholars). You see, to become a scientist or a scholar you had to learn how to write and read – and to do that, you needed to become a scribe. But many scribes stopped there and did not pursue their studies further – only some decided to take on a specific field of expertise (medicine, architecture, astronomy) and thus became more than just “regular” scribes.

# Scribes wrote their text in a very specific way. They sat cross-legged on the ground, placed the papyrus they wrote on their loincloth – that was pushed by their knee very strongly on each side, so it would be a flat surface to write onto. Scribes also wrote with their pen standing up, very still – so that they wouldn’t do any stain or mess up a line, because their ink took a very long time to dry.

# Scribes were the object of admiration, but also jealousy, from the everyday ordinary Egyptian man, because scribes were very well paid AND were exempt of taxes. Plus, their work was a non-manual one, unlike the other Egyptian men who were peasants or craftsmen. This was notably why in Egyptian art scribes are always depicted with a potbelly or fat rolls – thanks to their wealth and effortless job that demanded them to sit around all day, they were the only inhabitants of Ancient Egypt who could easily become fat. In return, the scribes themselves were very proud of their position and status – and this often made them quite arrogant, according to the ancient texts. One of the favorite entertainments of the scribes was to mock other jobs or workforces of Egypt by telling funny stories or jokes about them.

PRIESTS

# Do not get things wrong: in Egyptian religion, only the pharaoh can act as an intermediary between the gods and men – he is the true voice and right hand of the gods. But then, you’ll ask, why are there priests? Well it is simply because the pharaoh is one human man, and cannot be everywhere in the country – so the pharaoh delegates his powers to the priests, who act in his name. This is something important to remember: Ancient Egypt was a form of theocracy, and the priests did not get their power from the gods but from the pharaoh. Though the priests’ role WAS to serve the gods. Ancient Egyptians and Ancient Egyptian gods had a deal worked out: the priests would tend to their need, and take care of them, through various festive celebrations and everyday rituals, and in exchanged from being tended to, the gods ensured the protection and wellness of the city/region/country they were worshiped in. As easy as that. But this explains why for example priests were not depicted on murals or paintings of temples: priests were not perceived as worthy of being depicted alongside the gods, because in the Egyptian mindset, priests are just servants – or rather some sort of religious bureaucrats. Only the pharaoh, the one and true emissary of the god, and himself equal to the gods, could be painted on the walls of temples.

# The role of priests, just like the one of scribe, usually was passed from father to son. Usually priests began their apprenticeship as children, studying at the school and at the library of the temple alongside scribes. Given being a priest was a very prestigious function (again, quite like scribes), some people rather could buy a priest job with a heavy sum of money, or it could be given by the pharaoh himself as a reward, to those that served him well and faithfully.

# In every great temple and religious center of Egypt there was, at the top of the priestly hierarchy, a great priest, or “first prophet”, named directly and personally by the pharaoh. This great priest held authority over all of the other priests, and also played a political role in the city he was in charge of. Below him came the “divine fathers”, important priests that took care of the rituals and walked in front of their god’s statue during processions. Finally, at the bottom of the hierarchy, there were the “purified ones”, whose job was to carry the god’s statue during procession, to clean up the temple every day, and to do all the chores. Speaking of cleanliness, being pure was a very big deal for Ancient Egyptian priests – they usually took four baths a day in the lake’s temple, or rather two baths during the day and two baths during the night. It was a way for them to stay “pure”.

# Priests had a LOT of work and so, to be able to rest and not die of exhaustion, there were “teams” of priests formed in temples. Each team was to work in the temple during one month while the other went to live into town, and after one month a new team went in. In smallest temple there were only two teams, each doing half of the year, but in the biggest temple, there could be up to four priest teams. And since the priests were to live in the town quite regularly, and couldn’t possibly live alone (for Egyptians a man couldn’t just live all on his own, it was not a good or healthy lifestyle), the priests were allowed and even encouraged to marry, so that when leaving the temple they could have a wife and children to return to – children that in turn would become priests once their father grew too old.

PEASANTS

# Peasants formed the bulk of the Egyptian population, and they were a key part in the wealth of the nation: without them and their constant toil, Egypt couldn’t have existed. But despite their immense utility, priests were very poor and not respected, forming the lower rank of the social hierarchy. Most of them acted like serfs, in service of great landowners, temples, or the ministers of the pharaoh. The comparison to serfs is quite relevant as, just like serfs, Egyptian peasants did not own their lands, and they could be sold just alongside the land they were dependent.

# The fields of the peasants were actually really small, roughly the size of a vegetable garden today. They were delimited by big and heavy rocks – every year, bureaucrats of the realm checked after each flood is these rocks hadn’t been move. The peasants also had to swear an oath to never move secretly the stones to augment their field – if they were caught doing that and lying about it, they had their two ears cut off!

# Scribes went three times a year into every peasant’s home. A first time to measure their field, a second time once the cereals ha d grown – to evaluate the harvest and calculate future taxes based on this hypothetical harvest – and a third time during the harvesting, to collect the taxes. Of course, on this third visit, scribes were escorted by armed soldiers. If a peasant refused to pay the taxes, he was beaten up, and/or his house and tools were taken away from him – sometimes he was even thrown into prison. According to some tales, the most extreme cases of punishment had peasants that did not pay their taxes being beaten up, tied with a rope, and thrown at the bottom of a well in front of his wife and children – who in turn were imprisoned in his place! Better pay the taxes the, you say? Well, the problem was that the taxes were calculated during January, two to three months before the actual harvest. If any sort of disaster happened, and they lost their harvest, they still had to pay the taxes as if they had a full harvest…

# No need to tell you that the peasants’ worst enemy (outside of the locust) was the hippopotamus! Hippopotami were considered a true disaster, since in a single night, a hungry hippo could eat up to sixty kilos of plants (132 pounds). If a small group of hippos came by a field in the night, in the morning nothing was left… So peasants hunted and killed hippos without pity or mercy.

CRAFTSMEN

# Craftsmen were the middle-class of Egypt, coming below the scribes and bureaucrats, but above peasants. Craftsmen worked numerous types of material: stone, wood, iron, precious metals (such as gold), leather, textiles and glass. Craftsmen never worked alone – they were always forming groups and teams, part of workshops financed by the government, or by a temple, or by a rich family. Each workshop gathered various specialists – a carpenter, a painter, a smith, a jeweler, a stone-sculptor…

# The quality of a furniture could be identified by the type of wood used: good quality furniture was done by sculpting cedar, a tree that was important from the Lebanon. High quality furniture was also often decorated with ivory or ebony. Lower quality furniture however, was usually sculpted in sycamore trees or palm trees – a wood so friable they were often covered in plaster to just be able to stand up and hold any kind of weight!

# The Egyptians discovered how to make class towards 1500 BCE. They created it with sand, salt, and they always colored their glass with metallic pigments – an Egyptian would have never created a transparent piece of glass. Egyptians loved colors, and so their glass work was always red, blue or yellow.

# Potters were considered to be “different” from other craftsmen. More specifically they were thought to practice a very “common” craft. Scribes liked to mock them by describing them as dirty, and always covered in mud. Potters did not work in the royally-sponsored workshops I described above – they rather worked all alone, for their own. They built most of everyday objects: vases, plates, cups, jars… Potters usually worked with the clay of the Nile, sculpted by hand (at first, then the potter’s wheel was invented), and then left to dry up in the sun before being “cooked” in an oven. Their other technique was to create a material by mixing sand with water, salt, ashes and lime – this substance was then placed inside molds, and placed in an ove.

# Pearls in Ancient Egypt are a fascinating thing, because Egyptians did not know about the existence of oysters – or if they did, they couldn’t access any of them. So, Egyptians created their own pearls, by polishing stones so much they were reduced to very small spheres, that were then pierced to be placed onto necklaces.

# All the gems and precious stones used by Egyptians (the red carnelian, the purple amethyst, the turquoise and the blue agate – plus gold of course) were extracted from mines located in the desert, and in which criminals and law-breakers were sent to work (because working in these mines often killed the miners). The favorite gem of the Egyptians, the lapis-lazuli, was rather important from where today’s Afghanistan is located. However, faience/earthenware was very common among Egyptians precisely because with its blue-green color it could look like emeralds or turquoises, while being much MUCH less costly. This is why there were a lot of faience jewels in Ancient Egypt – they were basically for those who wanted to look good without having the means to.

[mchiti]

Hala what are moroccan weddings like

I want to know more about Moroccan culture

aw anon it's so sweet you want to know more!

Moroccan weddings are AMAZING and traditions can vary from one city to another. Obviously we are in the diaspora so we can't really do it like at home for many reasons but we try to make the best of the situation.

well couples go through a wedding preparation time with the Imam for quite a while before the wedding. Then there's Drib Sdak first which is when the couple sign the wedding papers in the presence of someone called "adoul" which is basically a moroccan notary. Since we're in the diaspora it's a bit more complicated as we have to go through the embassy but all good.

After they are officially married, before the official celebrations there's a moment where we all bring gifts to their house, and it basically becomes a party. It's so fun I swear.

the first day it's the Hammam. It's a moment of purification for the bride (she prepare herself etc). Historically in morocco this was done in public bath houses and it was a beautiful moment for all women. Here we rent a spa place basically. It's very beautiful to see her getting love, as I see with catholic weddings for instance there's not the same type support for the bride, not anymore at least. There's a woman in particular who helps the bride through the days before the actual celebration days, we call her "negafa", she is charge of dresses, hair, anything really. Emotional support too!

The day before, we did ~henna party. All women from the family + friends gather together to get henna and wallah my cousin's wife was mesmerising, she's such a sweet girl too I love her. The bride wears a green and golden caftan in this occasion, for good luck. (caftans are moroccan traditional clothes if you don't know, and here she wears it with mdama, a belt) It's a beautiful moment and the one I love the most! Music, laughters, food. And I get to have the prettiest henna on my hands!

And then we had the official celebration! The bride arrives on a amaria which is a rooted platform sort of thing, carried by a group of men. YOU REALLY SHOULD SEE THE BRIDE. SO BEAUTIFUL. She wears a white takchita, a beautiful, complex dress made of different pieces. The caftan is one piece, while takchita has a part called tahtiya, which is like a caftan, and an one part above it that is called fouqia. Though when (if) I get married I want to wear lebsa lfasiya which is traditional of the region my parents were from (just google it it's STUNNING); bridal styles vary on the region really. The brides change into different takchitas throughout the night and it's one more stunning than the other. I also got a new pretty one so I was over the moon and I still am because I'm still staring at it loool. And yeah that's all, music, loooooots of dancing, lots of food. So much fun and it's lovely to feel at home, it's hard to put into words!

(this got too long I'm sorry)

[handypolymath]

MAD LARRY DISEASE BED-IN FOR DEMOCRACY - Feathered Bangs Edition

In a thread about Ronnie Raygun the other day I referenced this Bloom County strip from 1982:

I read this strip the week it was published, catching up on Bloom County at my grandpa's. My dad and I were about the same ages as Binkley and his dad above, I was ten, and already reading the newspapers and a couple local libraries and Generating Opinions.

I'm Binkley up there, though it always bummed me I could never get my hair to do that. This thruline in my life is why I have the tag #the worst thing about being genx is that I'm living through the fruition of so much evil.

So today I'm watching a link from the spouse, a legal commentator guy contrasting the speeches from the Minority Leader and the House Speaker:

And 2 things hit me in a "politics is also ritual language and charismatic interplay and aggression channeled into improv theater" way:

1. Jeffries lays out a bold mission statement: these are our shared values as a group, and how you should judge our work here. The content is elegant like a theorem yet chockablock with intersectional antiracist prosocial concepts from the evidence-based reality community. It did not unite -- because it was delivered and received as a quick pep talk to a tightly-knit squad going into action.

2. Is...is McCarthy daring them to murk him? "...here's where I hang out alone at night, in the building we keep bringing our guns into like it earns us CamelCash," and "my door's always open, lemme mention Lincoln yet again in what certainly won't be further darkly comic irony when the kayfabe hits the fan," o_O

This McCarthy clip is fascinating all on its own, and I admit it's all I've seen. I don't even wanna know how or why crossing the Delaware is relevant when your rubes crossed the Rubicon years ago, my guy. Anyway,

Let's set aside his sentimental centering of the locus of power away from not only the room and the body meeting in it, but also away from everyone that body is representing; shifting it to a gallery of statues more representive of the bloodthirsty base, 'where we gathered before, when the cameras didn't see'. We know what that's about agenda-wise, and he knows he doesn't own the room yet. Yet, he thinks. Bluffing like a Ted Knight character. Anyway,

Which Lincoln is he invoking?

"Obscure senator becomes kintsugi of riven nation" Lincoln?

'You don't understand the Aikido of my leadership style" Lincoln?

"Chekhov's Wilkes Santos come at me bro!" Lincoln?

As a notary public sworn to defend the Constitution, and a former Marching Railspiltter, my money is on lucky number three.

[keywestlou]

COLD IN KEY WEST…..HORRIBLE IN BUFFALO

COLD IN KEY WEST…..HORRIBLE IN BUFFALO - https://keywestlou.com/cold-in-key-west-horrible-in-buffalo/A weather man I am not. Yet I know what happens in upstate New York and Key West based on years of experience. Experience acquired by living in each area for decades. Key West weather today 72-78. The 72 at the moment is cold. Cold for Key Westers who are accustomed to mid 80's. Fortunately, snow will not fall. Has snow ever fallen in Key West? Buffalo, on the other hand, is in for what has already been predicted to be an "historic storm." Four to five feet of snow. Temperature 27-35 degrees. Four to five feet a crippling storm. Does not necessarily mean a suffering one for most. I spent 60 plus years residing in Utica. On the same line as Buffalo. Less than 200 miles separating the two communities. Yearly "major" snow storms generally 1-2 feet. Occasionally, the mother of all storms. Three feet plus. A few really big ones over the years. Could have been 5 feet or better. I never minded the big storms. Meant everything closed down. Roads impassable. No one could get to work. No one could get anywhere. Everyone home confined. It was a time when families got to know each other again over a three day period. I loved it! Especially when the kids were small. I had several law offices. One located in Buffalo. A big storm hit. My staff "lived" in the offices for 3 days. Slept on desks and the floor. Somehow were able to get food from here and there. One concluding observation. When it is "very" cold in Buffalo and upstate New York, it is cold in Key West. Look at Key West's temperature for today and compare it to Buffalo's. Being Catholic has/had its disadvantages. There was once a time when it was a sin to eat meat on friday. I started doing Confession around 6 years of age. Many a saturday this little boy stood in line waiting to go to confession. Sweating, nervous. I had sinned. Ate meat on friday. Probably a bologna sandwich. On this day in 1966 U.S. Catholic bishops did away with the rule meat could not be eaten on fridays, except during Lent. When they did, I was in my early 30's so it made no difference. I did not eat meat on fridays. Probably because I would be embarrassed to confess that as an adult I had committed such a stupid minor sin. Felt sorry for Lori yesterday. As she was cutting my hair, I asked how her leg was. Lori is a runner. Five to seven miles a day. She had complained to me two weeks earlier her leg was bothering her. Turns out she has a torn meniscus. No running for six months. Tear small so no surgery. I feel sorry for Lori. I have known her for a quarter century. She has always been a runner. On the way to Harpoon Harry's for lunch, I ran into Aaron Wechter. I have not seen Aaron in quite a while. My first real male friend when I arrived in Key West years ago. It was good to run into him. I enjoyed our chat. Aaron is a very busy man. An extremely busy Notary Public. He marries people. The biggest and best "marrying man" in Key West. Big day tomorrow at Hogfish! Bobby and Michelle Mongelli are celebrating the 20th anniversary of opening what has become one of the most famous eateries in the Keys. Hogfish. Festivities begin "around 4 o'clock." Syracuse plays football against Wake Forest tomorrow at 8 pm. Syracuse 6-4, Wake Forest 6-4. Syracuse has lost its last 4 games, Wake Forest its last 3. I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen. A lot of crazy people in this world. You don't need me to tell you. On this day in 1978, the Jonestown deaths occurred. Nine hundred eighteen cult murders and suicides. All promoted by cult leader Jimmy Jones. Jones had formed a haven for his followers in Jonestown, Guyana. The cult members are said to have "drunk the Kool-Aid." All but 2 died from cyanide poisoning which was either drunk or injected. Some are reported to have consumed the cyanide against their will. Enjoy your day! Eat bologna, don't drink Jonestown Kool-Aid!  

[max--phillips]

So, because my job is what it is, I’m a notary public. Because of that, I’m required to have a surety bond for $25k in case something I notarize becomes like, an issue later down the line; i.e. I did it improperly or something, it’s a bunch of legal crap so I’ll spare you the details but for this all you gotta know is it’s basically insurance for other people in case I fuck up being a notary.

My bond is through Traveler’s insurance, right? So I get a letter in the mail earlier this week from Traveler’s saying my bond is going to be cancelled because I owe them a $40 premium (which is weird bc I was pretty sure we took care of all of that when I applied for the bond but whatever). So I take it to work with me and ask one of my superiors about it and he suggests I scan it in and send it to our accounts payable email address to get it taken care of.

Now, I can’t stress this enough, this letter is definitely from Traveler’s. It has my bond number on it, the correct expiration date for my commission, the correct agent, the correct obligee, everything. This is absolutely legit, and considering it’s just 40 bucks like, who cares, I Literally work for a Fortune 500 company.

You know what I get back from accounts payable?

“That sound like spam, you can disregard.”

Typo and all. Then the dude marks the case as resolved

And I get this like, an hour before I’m supposed to leave, and I still got shit to do, so I’m like

Just. SO close to committing violence because this is the THIRD person from our inside team who has pissed me off TODAY because they don’t know how to do their fucking jobs.

Okay, so cool, fine, I get up to go do what I need to do real quick and then come back and try to dig around on Traveler’s website to see if I can’t confirm I actually owe this money, but because I am simply an employee, I can’t access that information!!

Anyway. Jobs are hell capitalism fucking sucks can I please just be a rich lesbian’s stay at home trophy butch

[randgugotur-6]

The time KISS poured their own blood into a comic book!

Printed in real KISS blood!! 🩸

May 26, 1977

LOCATION : Depew, New York

Remember the time when KISS poured their own blood into a comic book?

Metalhead Marv takes us back to that time in ‘77.

1977 and KISS was the hottest band in America. The annual Gallup Poll found that the shock-rockers had become the #1 band in the land.

Smokey and the Bandit was just being released in theatres and Hotel California by the Eagles was blasting out of car stereos.

KISS had just finished their Rock and Roll Over Tour in April.

Long before the KISS condoms and the KISS Kasket, the band made a comic book with their own blood mixed with red ink.

Even back in ‘77 KISS were marketing geniuses.

Paul and Gene taking their turn giving blood

Gene recalled the event:

As the KISS comic book project moved along, someone came up with the idea of putting real blood in the ink. It wasn’t me – maybe it was Bill Aucoin. We got in the DC3, one of those big prop planes, and flew up to Buffalo to Marvel’s printing plant, where they pour the ink and make comic books. A notary public actually witnessed the blood being drawn.

Now it was Ace and Peter’s turn.

Supposedly a local radio station had also some vials and intended to give them away in a contest but whether they did or not nobody knows.

Did you know…

Marvel Comics Super Special #1 was the first-ever appearance of a rock band as superheroes.

[rasoir-national]

I’m assuming that studying law, involves learning about the history of law. I’m interested to know how the legal system has changed over the centuries. (Hopefully this isn’t too much of a complicated question to answer)

Oh boy, so so much. Basically every course we have starts with a historical study of how this specific type of law started. History of law is one of the three specialties we can choose, but it’s not mine. There are literal libraries of material so I couldn’t possibly answer your question exhaustively, but I can give a couple examples to illustrate the kind of changes that can occur.

First, from contract law. What makes a contract binding ? If you’re from modern times, you might say “that’s the fact that two people write a document and sign it”. But here’s the thing : you don’t sign something with the cashier everytime you go shopping, yet you give them money and they let you leave the store with your items without having you arrested. That’s because the essence of the contract is not any kind of formality, but the fact that two parties agreed to make their agreement binding. The store agrees to sell this item for a certain sum of money, and you agree to give that certain sum of money in exchange for this specific item. Now when the object of the transaction (to use the most basic type of contract) is bigger, law might require the parties make a written document, and even sign it in presence of a specific official (a notary for a real estate sale for example). But that’s so the parties can more easily prove the contract ; the real contract happens because the buyer made an offer and the seller agreed to this offer. That’s the doctrine of consensus. At its core, a contract is two will coming in unison to make certain terms binding.

But here’s the thing : it wasn’t always like this. In the Middle Ages, and up to the Revolution, contract law was governed by the doctrine of formalism. Formalism is the exact opposite of consensus : a contract isn’t binding because the parties agreed it should be, but because they accomplished a series of codified actions which signified the contract happened. Now remember, mass literacy wasn’t a thing back then, so this action couldn’t be to write and sign a document. So the actions required to make a contract binding were symbolic. For example, if you sold a piece of land, you would bring the buyer a lump of soil from this land, symbolically passing its ownership to them. Since there’s no written proof, witnesses were crucial so these actions had to be public. One story we were told in college was of a real estate transaction between two lords : one of the guards went to grab a young boy from the nearby village and brought him to the field that was being sold, and they made the boy witness the transaction and then the guard slapped the boy to make sure he would remember what he’d witnessed his entire life. Needless to say, this system was horrendous. There was no conclusive way to prove your right, as even witnesses were easily bought. That was a mess.

Enters the French Revolution, and then the Napoleonian civil code (which we still use today !). Aside from the political upheaval, at the same time law underwent a complete overhaul thanks to people like Portalis. The big idea regarding contracts was that citizens were capable of making their own legal decisions, and that their will should prevail over some complicated formalism. That’s when the doctrine of consensus appeared. From then on, no symbolic gifting of soil. You simply had two parties agree to something, and that meant a contract existed. Obviously, it didn’t hurt that soon people were able to make written agreements, but at its core, the entire way people thought about contracts shifted. So everytime you don’t have to bring witnesses with you to shop for groceries, remember to thank the revolutionaries.

Here’s a second example, this one from public law : what is a kingdom ? More specifically, what’s a kingdom in relation to its king ? France was a monarchy until… well, you know, but from Louis Capet to Charlemagne, it was quite a journey, and in a way, something as revolutionary as the revolution itself took place centuries earlier. See, in the times of Charlemagne, the King was nothing more than the owner of the Kingdom. He could rent parts of it, buy and sell parts of it, divide it between its heirs, the same way a landlord can buy, sell and divide their property. That’s why in the middle ages what would become “countries” changed shape so often : there was no fixed identity to any of them. A kingdom was simply the sum of all the land the king had been able to acquire. But by the 11th century, that became a problem : because the kingdom of France was divided at every succession, it had become ridiculously small ; it was barely bigger than the Parisian region. The King of France was much less powerful than the lords of Aquitaine of Languedoc who, despite technically not “kings” owned huge pieces of land and private forces. And so the kings started to think of ways to reclaim their power. The first way they did this was by making very profitable marriage alliances with daughters of powerful nobles, and specifying in what we would call a marriage contract that the land the bride would bring to the king of France would remain his property, instead of returning to her male relatives (of course, that didn’t always work, look up mega-badass double queen Eleanor of Aquitaine). The second way they did this was by developing a doctrine that became known as “the two bodies of the King”. The idea was that the king wasn’t just the human being that was currently king ; the “King” was also the transcendent figure which inhabited whichever “king” was on the throne. There’s the mortal body of the king and the divine body of the King. And therefore, the kingdom isn’t just the property of the king ; he had to look after it, but he cannot dispose of it at will, because it doesn’t just belong to him, it belongs to this transcendent King. That’s where “the king is dead, long live the King !” comes from. So from then on, the kingdom cannot get divided at every succession, because there can only be one kingdom of France. The current king just happen to coincide with the transcendent king during a certain period of time. Using this doctrine, the kings of France progressively reclaimed their authority on the entire entity that would become known as the kingdom of France, because they aren’t just a noble among nobles ; they are above them, and while the noble yield power over their land, the king has a claim over this same land which transcends simple property. Sovereignty isn’t ownership, it transcends it. So when the Revolution came, the very idea that France was an entity separate from the king was actually born centuries before.

And that’s two examples of how systems of law can change. Some changes are relatively sudden, others happen over centuries as mentalities and society evolve. There’s really no roadmap of how those changes operate. Some were portended by academic or philosophical discussions, others were pushed by a political necessity. But they never truly come out of nowhere. The law is inherently conservative, because above all else, its aim is stability. So even something revolutionary as… well, the Revolution, has to be studied in its context if we are to really understand its ruptures and its continuity, because yes, there is immense legal continuity between the Old Regime and the Revolution. If you’re interested in this topic, it’s mandatory you read Alexis de Tocqueville’s “The Old Regime and the Revolution”. If you study law in France, it’s pretty much the first thing they’ll make you read, and it’s quite accessible even if you have no legal background. I also recommend Rafe Blaufarb’s remarkable “The Great Demarcation : the French Revolution and the invention of Modern Property”, though it’s a bit more technical.

[homeloandubai]

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[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1013]

"Guys. I am like. One week away from retirement," Malika groans as she puts her head in her hands. She moves one hand to gesture around the large office. “Look at this. I’m almost packed up. I’m ready to be put to pasture over here.”

“Cute,�� Rat says as she adjusts the volume on the speakers, “Hi Bull.”

“Hi, Rat.”

For a lot of people, when they get older, they start to lose the weight of their voice. It becomes lighter, thinner, as though — like their bodies and their strengths — their voices were being chiseled away. It’s the exact opposite for the Iron Bull.

Almost ninety and his voice hasn’t lost any bit of its richness, it’s deepness. If anything the bass in it has deepened along with his gut, and he’s turned into a walking bass speaker.

“Run me through this again?” Malika asks.

“I came home. There are strangers in my house packing shit up. There’s a moving sign out front. And no Ellana.”

Malika turns to Rat. “Please tell me we didn’t just lose Ellana Lavellan.”

Rat lets Malika hang out to dry for a few heart-stopping seconds before shaking her head.

“Nah, I’ve got eyes on her.”

“Okay, Rat, but what’s the situation? We’ve been working together since we were kids and I still can’t get a read on you.”

“Ever think that’s on purpose, Inquisitor?”

Malika wrinkles her nose. “I hate it when you call me Inquisitor. Only you, though.”

“Does it remind you about how prestigious a seat you hold and are about to concede to the young and inexperienced?”

“Oy,” the Iron Bull cuts in, “Focus. My house. My partner. All of the worldly possessions we’ve gotten working for the Inquisition and shit. I’m an old man, brats. I’m wasting away while you two banter about the old days.”

Rat shakes her head fondly and unlocks her tablet to start sending documents.

“From what we’ve been able to sort out — well. Ellana’s at it again. The universe deposited a con artist at her doorstep and Ellana is riding this one all the way to the end to see what’s going to happen and how badly she can make this con artist regret all of their life choices.”

“Oh no,” Malika groans, “I did tell her I’m a week before retirement, right? I did tell her I wanted it to be peaceful, didn’t I?”

“Hell yes,” the Iron Bull booms out a laugh that momentarily causes the speakers to crackle. “Aclassi, did you hear that? Ellana’s back in the game.”

“No, no, she’s not back in the game. She’s eighty two, retired, and promised three different governments that if she ever considered going back to active duty she’d give them a month’s head start to gird their loins. And most importantly she promised me she wasn’t going to stir up any trouble until I’ve safely passed on all my duties to the next Inquisitor and she actually likes me,” Malika protests. “She isn’t back in the game.”

“Well. She didn’t start this. Trouble walked right up her doorstep with a warrant.”

“A warrant for what?” Bull asks.

“We’re digging into it now, but it looks like an entire con ring. Public officials, doctors, nursing home staff and directors, notaries — it’s a whole ring of people who’re in on this con. This woman, Carol, targets older people who look like they’re alone and vulnerable within this network of doctors she’s got paid off. And she has those doctors sign legal forms stating that the person can’t take care of themselves anymore and is at risk. Then she gets the courts to step up and assign her as the legal guardian. The senior citizens get shuffled off to care facilities that she’s got in her pocket, and all of their assets are hers to do whatever the hell with.”

“My house and my stuff is in the hands of a shit con artist?”

“Not shit if she’s got this far. I’ve got people swarming all over — in secret, don’t give me that look Cadash — and checking every single case she’s ever touched and then some. By this afternoon we’ll have everything about her from her full horoscope to when she last took a shit. I’ve got eyes on every residence and property she’s got money even whispering next to. I’ve got tails on every license plate and every vehicle her ass has ever touched. We can move in any second.”

“Alright, but where’s Ellana?”

“By all accounts it looks like she’s been transferred to a care facility and she’s in the process of making several new friends.”

“So. Just doing what Ellana does.”

“Yup. She’s weaving her web,” Rat shakes her head. “You can take the woman out of the business but you can’t take the business out of the woman. “

“So. The Inquisition gonna swoop in and take care of this or are you just gonna let Ellana run wild?” Bull asks. “Now, she is anemic so letting her get too crazy might not be a good idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re gonna step in. Shit. Bull I’m heading out. I’ll call you later. If you need a place to stay just swing around one of our bases in the area. I’ll make sure your stuff doesn’t get too far from your house. I mean. How the fuck would they fleece it anyway? Half the things in your house are gifts from some of the highest ranking people in history. Red flags and alarms would start going off instantly.” Malika sighs, slowly pushing out of her chair and walking around her desk to grab her coat off of the chair she’d tossed it onto earlier. “Damn. There goes quiet retirement.” Malika throws her door open and points at Lorien who immediately startles. “Hey. Junior. You thank your entire butt that this happened this week instead of next week. Man, this would’ve been such a good one for you to break your teeth on. This Carol couldn’t wait one more week? Ugh. Seriously.”

Lorien looks between Malika and Rat.

“Do I want to know?”

Rat grins, “You just dodged a bullet, kid. Thank Ellana Lavellan next time you talk to her.”

Lorien’s eyebrows raise. “She’s back?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Rat grins behind Malika’s back.

“Tell the council that I’m off to clean up after some stuff,” Malika says.

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

“Man. I thought Ellana’d been too quiet recently.”

“Well. It’s still better than the time we had to come down on an entire gated community for trying to kick Maxwell out because they thought he had a criminal past.”

“Man that was a rough one. Thanks for the reminder.”

[memrie]

Providential Experiences Before Med School Start

By February of this year, I have already completed the requirements that a graduating undergraduate student must submit to AUP-COM. But honestly, I was very hesitant, and I did not passed it right away. My mind was full of doubts considering the economic status of my family and the challenges to go through medical school, especially AUP. There were times that I was thinking of going to a state university or not to go to medical school, and go find a permanent job instead. It had been months actually that those thoughts kept on bothering me. In other words, I was like a lost boat without clear direction and was tossed to and fro by the wind. 

This wavering thoughts was challenged the more when the global pandemic, covid-19, arrived and caused lock down all over the country. Instead of becoming decided to just set aside the thought of going to medical school, I was more bothered of not going to med school. The more I stayed on the undecided ground, the more I felt and experienced that I was being drawn farther and farther from Jesus. 

And so, I prayed. I beg the Lord in tears to guide me and teach me in the way I should go. Well, from the very start it was already clear to me where does He wants me to go. It is just that my faith does not suffice the hugeness of the challenge and the needs for med school. Therefore, upon weighing cons and fros of going to med school and not going to med school, I decided to go. The weightiest reason of continuing to med school despite the seemingly impossible (as for me, but not for the Lord) situation is that I fear that I might completely lost Jesus in my life the moment I willfully decide to disobey Him.

That was already second week of July when I started to chat the COM secretary about the changes in requirements because I have already graduated. Mind you, Wednesday of the following week is the deadline of application. I was kinda worried that things won’t turn out fine because some of my necessary documents were left in Puting Kahoy. But when the secretary replied, it’s really amazing to find out that the documents that was left in PK were exactly the documents that was no longer needed to be submitted. It appealed to my amazement because at that moment there were no public transportation available for me to get my documents from PK. The documents that I needed next are to be processed from RAO; the documents are TOR and Certificate of Completion which would take quite some time to be received, and without a definite date. Thankfully, I have a friend named Elyzza, who helped me process it faster and payed the documents initially, because banks are far from home. The processing continue and I had to wait the following week for its arrival.

By Thursday of that second week, I realized that my medical tests and certificates already expired. I have to go to the town proper to do the testing, yet my monthly menstrual cycle arrived. Can you imagine my disappointment that it has to come by then when I badly needed the medical laboratory tests. I had to wait for atleast 4 days so I can have the test and the medical certificate. 

The fourth day fell on Monday, July 13. In the morning, I went to the town clinic and hospital and no doctors were available to sign me a request for the lab test and x-ray. I went back in the afternoon and still the doctor is in a meeting. I waited until 2pm. Maybe the nurses got tired of me asking for the requests; one of the nurses (I didn’t realized it that time) signed the request for me (that’s not a legal process. haha). Anyway, I was able to do the lab test and the x-ray, but the result of the x-ray would be available 2 days after. Two days after means that will be Wednesday, the deadline day of application.

Again, I went to the town proper ion that Wednesday morning, took the x-ray result, looked for a doctor to issue me the medical certificate. Again, there’s no doctor available. Having tried to go to other hospital and clinic, I got an opportunity. While waiting, I went to look for a notary office for the non-fraternity involvement document. I was blessed and fortunate to find one with kind staffs. As I went back to the clinic, the secretary told me that the doctor did not issue me a medical certificate because there is something wrong with my urinalysis. I wasn’t able to talk to the doctor for he left already, so I had to find another clinic. Unfortunately, there was a cut of power supply since the morning and that clinic has no generator that is needed to run their facility. I tried to find some ways but I did not come up to any solution. So, I just went to the terminal to catch the trip back home. That was already almost 4pm of July 15, the last day of submission that would close at 5pm. While waiting for other passengers, I sat on one of the benches and prayed. I talked to God earnestly and told Him that this matter of applying to med school is between me and Him. I asked Him what really is His plan. 

It was already 4pm when the power supply went back and I jumped from my seat and decided to go back to the clinic. I waited on the line for some minutes and later had a time with the doctor on duty. He’s kind and I believe that God purposed it that he would be the doctor on duty, because I later found out that there was really something low in the urine test result but he issued me a medical certificate anyway, and without a professional fee.

After that,I run to the nearest computer shop to scan all my documents. Just before 5pm (the deadline of application and the last trip of van on the way home), I successfully and joyfully submitted everything. Praise God!

I have noticed that along this 1 week of loaded experience and testimonies, there is a pattern; the Lord provided just as needed, and He worked out ways beyond my capacity.

This was just the first week. I jumped aboard by faith, have to sail by faith, and live by faith along the continuing journey. I praise and thank God for those who prayed with me and never left my side. I praise Him the more for my childhood best friend, Jesus; He never leave me nor forsake me, despite the numerous times that I’d lived a life denying Him before many. Thank you, Jesus.

The boat is not yet far from shore, and I have already decided to go wherever Jesus is leading me. I don’t think I have the chance to leave the boat (haha) nor will it cause me any good to leave Jesus here. Continually requesting that your prayers, families and friends, will sail with me until we reach our destination. Shalom!

#JumpedAboardByFaith_SailByFaith_LiveByFaith

[scotianostra]

Did you know that up until 1599 that Scotland celebrated Christmas day on December 17th.

So Happy Christmas Day folks, Scottish Old Style! 

King James VI, via an act of his Privy Council, decided that Scotland should come into line with other “well governit commonwealths.” but generally well governed France, the date for New Year's Day was changed from the 25th of March and imposed as the 1st of January. So the day after the 31st of December, 1599, became the 1st of January, 1600. Insular England didn't make the 1st of January the official start of the year until 1752. For more facts about New Year check this link out here. Most folks, if asked, will say that New Year's Day falls on the 1st of January each year. It was not always so, either in the United Kingdom in general or in Scotland, in particular. Come to think of it, it still isn't so in many parts of the world. New Year's Day is generally accepted as being the day that marks the beginning of a new calendar year and also the day on which the year count is incremented, but neither was that always so and  still isn't so in the Jewish calendar. The 1st of January is certainly the  first day of the year on the modern Gregorian calendar and it was also the  first day of the year on the ancient Julian calendar as used in Rome. Despite that apparent synchronisation, January the 1st on the Julian calendar currently corresponds to January the 14th on the Gregorian calendar. In terms of other cultures, the Hijri or Islamic New Year begins on the first day of Muharram, the first month in the Islamic calendar. In 2011, it fell on the Gregorian 26th of November. However, the Islamic year is 11 to 12 days shorter than the Gregorian year, so there's also a  perennially shifting differential between the two calendars. The Hindu New Year falls according to the time and date the Sun enters Aries on the Hindu calendar, which normally means the 13th of 14th of April, depending on the Leap year. The Jewish New Year is celebrated on Rosh Hashanah, which takes place between sunset on the evening before the first day of Tishrei and nightfall on the second day of Tishrei. Strange to say, Tishrei is the seventh, rather than the first, month of the Hebrew calendar. In terms of the Gregorian calendar, Rosh Hashanah will fall between September the 5th and October the 5th. The Chinese, on the other hand, celebrate New Year's Day as the first day of the lunar calendar, corrected every three years, for solar deviations. The date normally falls between the 20th of January and the 20th of February. Until 1599 in Scotland,  the New Year began on the 25th of March, which was in line with England. However, on the 17th of December, 1599, King James VI, via an act of his Privy Council, decided that Scotland should come into line with other “well governit commonwealths.” As a result of Jamie Saxt looking over his shoulder at the likes of 'well governed' France, the date for New Year's Day was changed from the 25th of March and imposed as the 1st of January. So the day after the 31st of December, 1599, became the 1st of January, 1600. Insular England didn't make the 1st of January the official start of the  year until 1752, the year it adopted the Gregorian calendar and way after James VI became James I of England.

According to the 'Register of the Privy Council', “The Kingis majestie and Lordis of his Secreit Counsall undirstanding that in all utheris weill governit commouns welthis and cuntreyis the first day of the yeir begynis yeirlie upoun the first day of Januare, commounlie callit new yeiris day, and that this realme onlie is different fra all utheris in the compt and reckning of the yeiris ...his Majestie with the advise of the Lordis of his Secreit Counsall statutis and ordanis that in all tyme cuming the first day of the yeir sal begin yeirlie upoun the first day of Januare...” Jamie's Privy Council was a powerful legislative and administrative body, which was very useful to him. The King had much more influence over the Privy Council than he ever did over the more independently minded Scottish Parliament. The Privy Council act of the 17th December, 1599, went on to command royal officials, clerks, judges, notaries,  &c., “in all tyme heireftir” to date all “thair decreittis infeftmentis charteris seasings letteris and writtis quhatsumeuir according to this p[rese]nt ordinance.” 

They also seemed to have had a shortage of commas in those days.

Scotland has had a chequered past regarding Christmas, perhaps that is why New Year has always been a wee bit mair special to us than the Yuletide season. Why was this? Well you can trace it back to an act of the Scottish Parliament in 1640 that made the celebration of Yule illegal.

Things had started going sour when those spoilsport Calvinist began to get a foothold, the earliest origins of the church falling out with Santa was actually some years previous, when in 1583, Glasgow Kirk at St Mungo’s Cathedral threatened those those who celebrated Yule with excommunication, this was serious in those god fearing days and would have condemned your eternal soul to hell, a fate worse than the death that would precede this! 

Why was this? Well there are no celebrations of Christmas, after the Nativity itself  recorded in the Bible. Therefore there should be none in Scotland, even singing a Christmas carol was considered a serious crime. After almost 60 years of build-up they eventually passed it into law. They also looked to the old testament for there religion, more or less ignoring the "papist" new one, as for the Virgin Mary, what was she but a heathen goddess dressed up in Roman garb? So she was dropped, along with all the other saints to whom benighted Papists addressed their prayers.

The law was officially repealed in 1712, but it was still generally frowned upon. Punishments for celebrating Yule were harsh, and there was no public holiday for the Scottish people on Christmas Day.

This next part might surprise many of you, after centuries of not having, what the Yanks call "The Holiday season" Scotland eventually began to shake off it's bad relationship with Christmas, when in 1958 it became an official holiday! January 2nd has for years been our additional festive season holiday, it wasn't until 1971 that Boxing Day officially became a holiday 

After centuries of social, religious and political change, Christmas in Scotland has become a very unique celebration.

And as in times long past, we treat this time of year as a holiday season, rather than a single day. Christmas flows into Hogmanay in a glow of family, friends, fun and feasts – and that’s about as traditional as you can get, so raise your glass, turn to your loved ones today and wish them a Happy Christmas. 

The first pic shows a full extract from the Scottish National Archives, the third is what is thought to be the first officially printed Gregorian Calender the basis for most calendars in the Western World.

[packsbeforesnacks]

The $10,000 Question || Ricky & Winn

TIMING: Friday, February 14th, 2020 (Valentine’s Day), Sunset LOCATION: Harris Island & Portland, ME PARTIES: @ricky-corderbro & @packsbeforesnacks​ SUMMARY: After a $10,000 donation to the school’s arts program, Winn lets Ricky take him on the date he paid for. The two have a heart-to-heart, then a stomach-to-stomach. WARNINGS: A couple instances of graphic (read: mature) language.

All told, Ricky had not expected to have his little online stunt net the public school system a ten grand donation that, from the complicated legalese he could muddle his way through, would see them burn in hell if they used a single red cent for anything other than arts funding. Slightly more complicated was the fact that the donation had come from Winn. All things being equal, the blind date they’d had hadn’t been terrible, and while he’d never admit this to Winn, the sex had been mind-blowing, but he had no intention of pursuing a relationship with the man. Or… rather… with the werewolf. He was acutely aware that his own species identification would probably be a topic for the evening, but, for the moment he was content with trying to figure out exactly what he was going to do for the date.

He’d tossed around several ideas; from something home cooked to renting a boat and having a moonlight meal in the Bay. But somehow that all seemed to fizzle in the face of the fact that Winn was obscenely rich enough to drop ten thousand dollars on a Valentine’s Day date without batting an eyelash. It flew in the face of what Ricky at least thought he knew about the man, but it was fresh out of his shower, smoothing curl serum he’d swear he never used through his hair, that it all finally clicked into place. As he laid out his suit he made a phone call, tying the tie saw him make another one, tying reservations down with the same surety his fingers used as they tied the knot, and finally, as he stood in front of the mirror in a charcoal pinstripe suit, he had everything ready to go. “Ready when you are, Romeo.” He quickly typed out, throwing some toiletries and… essentials… into a small bag and striding towards the door. “WINSTON!” he shouted, not even knowing if his roommate was home, “I’LL BE BACK TOMORROW.”

Panic wasn’t a typical emotion for Winn. He was calm in a crisis, a confidante for those who needed it, and, if he did say so himself and he did, pretty generally chill. One bad habit, though, one that Winn had never quite been able to break, was his inability to turn down a dare, or be called on a bluff when he could just as easily decide that his bluff was the truth. It was more than that, though. His inheritance was buried deep in the electrical grid of Virginia, a monopoly among monopolies that often did more harm than good, he knew. The trust had vested when he’d turned twenty-one, and all of the money his grandfather, coal and gristle, had put into it for his sole “heir” had come into Winn’s possession. What his parents, and his deceased grandfather, hadn’t counted on was the sole heir becoming a werewolf (or bein’ gay, but that was… less a dealbreaker). Certainly hadn’t expected that same heir to fuck up so bad that he wouldn’t even think of leaning into any aspect of their family’s various business.

No, Winn didn’t know what to do with all that money. He said it all the time, and it was true: he didn’t want for much, really. So, when Ricky had come around soliciting donations to the arts, somethin’ Winn knew wasn’t gettin’ the funding that hockey was? Well, what was $10,000 between (mutually attracted) friends (who had previously hooked up, and then not gone further than that, and hell if Winn was gonna be out-stubborned, and who was to say if Ricky even wanted to do more than some athletic, excellent fucking that had left Winn the best kinda sore for days)? So, yeah, he’d made a big choice and he wasn’t gonna fuck it up, no sir. … So, yeah, little panic. Just a little.

Which was to say, he’d been flying around town all afternoon, renting a car — as if they’d ride on his bike or in the beat-up jalopy he used most of the week — transferring money, writing up paperwork, hassling a notary, causin’ a desk lady at the school to pass out, tryin’ to find one goddamn suit that wasn’t shit-tier, and then beggin’ Blanche to tailor it for him all by six o’clock, dammit Ricky. He was thankful he’d gotten a haircut the day before Valentine’s, otherwise he’d probably have passed out somewhere in the middle there.

All things considered, though, he knew he cleaned up well. Hell, he’d modeled. The suit, a violet three-piece, had worried him a bit — was it too bold? — but Blanche assured him that the cut would distract Ricky from the choice of color. Lines of a lighter purple ran through the white silken shirt underneath. The tie and pocket square, a deep, dotted navy, had been Blanche’s choice: he’d bought about six, and trusted Blanche to match well, something his colorblind eyes struggled with. Just as he finished, sliding a watch on his wrist with just enough time to spare, Winn got a text from Ricky: “Ready when you are, Romeo.” He shoved a couple hundreds at Blanche as he left, sliding into the jet black Maserati he’d lucked and charmed (and paid) his way into and sped off towards Harris Island.

He pulled up at 5:59, walked to Ricky’s door, and rapped a quick three. As the door opened, he whistled lowly. “Wow. And I thought I was dressin’ to impress.”

He liked to think that he had at least some semblance of an idea of how Winn would roll up to his house, but when a Maserati of all things pulled down the long drive and Winn stepped out of the car in a suit that looked like it’d been tailor made for him, Ricky was starting to wonder if he was punching outside his weight class. As he walked out onto the porch he heard a low wolf whistle coming from the general direction of the main house, and looked over to see Dee flashing him a thumbs up from her back porch, “Back inside, Dee! You’re old and it’s cold.” The thumbs up quickly turned into her flipping him off and he turned his attention to the supermodel on his porch. “Well… I can’t show up to a date looking like a slob. First thing’s first…” He held a hand out. “Phone. Can’t have you guessing where we’re going before we get there.” Ricky had this date planned out down to the last detail, and a solid portion of it was contingent on Winn not figuring out what was happening until the last possible minute.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go looking through your pictures. Though I’ve already sucked your dick, so I can’t imagine I’d see anything in there that’d shock me.” His shoes crunched along the gravel as he walked to the car, carefully putting his bag in the back as he leaned against the side of what he prayed was a rental (the thought that Winn had bought a sports car for this date, while believable, was too much to handle). “Come on! I’ve got plans, Woods. I’ve got a whole evening impeccably planned out and we gotta hit the road!” He couldn’t keep himself from smiling broadly, this may have started out weird and awkward but Ricky was genuinely looking forward to the evening.

When Ricky had been, well, his normal Ricky self, Winn felt a coil in his gut, that he didn’t know had wound, ease up, if only a little. Winn was well-aware of the ways in which this whole… thing could’ve come off. He placed his phone gingerly into Ricky’s hand, fingers brushing against the other man’s palm and Winn blushin’ up to his ears at the mention of their night. “Who knows,” he whispered conspiratorially, “Maybe I want you to find what’s in there, Ricks.” He smiled, a bit… giddy? Yeah, giddy. The first date had been a surprise, if a pleasant one. This one, well, he may have paid for it, sorta, but… Ricky didn’t have to dress up so nice for him, if he didn’t want to. It was a different view of the man. He’d had his hands grasped in the curls that were pulled back, he’d seen the tan skin beneath the three-piece, he’d— Well, he was getting side-tracked, and Blanche had tailored the suit well enough that going too far down that rabbit hole would be a problem. Unless Ricky was into— Nope, down Winner.

In the time he’d spaced, Ricky had made his way over to the Maserati, leaned up against it like the best bad idea Winn had ever had. A whole evening? Damn. Winn smirked as he held Ricky’s door open, gesturing the other man in with a practiced air of cordialness — thanks Cotillion. He slid in, careful not to brush his hair, stickin’ up a bit with product, against the roof of the car. “Go ahead and set up your phone on the car’s Bluetooth. I’m a good conversationalist, I know, but quiet seems… neither of our speeds.” He winked, letting the implication hang in the air. This was good. This was great. “Where to, Cordero?” he said, turning the key in the ignition and feelin’ the car growl (ha) back to life.

The energy between them was a constant back and forth that straddled the line between flirtation and outright verbal fucking, and as Ricky took Winn’s phone and slid it into his jacket he leaned over, patting the well-scruffed cheek of his date, “Well then, I’ll have to dig through it. We’ll be in the car for about an hour. I’m sure I can find something on here that’ll amuse me.” As the car pulled down the long drive and out onto the road he smiled, stretching out a little as he hooked his phone up to the Bluetooth and the sounds of Barns Courtney’s Fire started to fill the car, “Head towards the highway. We’re going south. You’re gonna wanna start goin’ towards Portland. I’ll tell you more when you need to know it.”

He turned in his seat to make sure his bag wasn’t rattling around too much in the backseat, knowing full well he had important things inside of it, before turning to look at Winn and his (as much as he was loathe to admit it) incredibly handsome profile. “So. Mr. Woods. Ten fucking thousand dollars on a called bluff. I mean I know I’m a damn good lay and some charming company but that… is a lot of fucking money. That big a patron of the arts?” He let the question hang in the air for a few moments before smiling wickedly and modifying it, “Didn’t know that was a traditionally werewolf characteristic.”

“Good taste in music,” Winn said offhand, trying to pay attention to the road as the drums and deep baritone filled his speakers. Winn knew his grin had gotten bigger when the other  man had patted his cheek. He liked Ricky’s hands (was that a weird thing to say?). He’d ignored the quip Ricky had made about goin’ through his phone, knowin’ (hopin’?) it was mostly a joke. It wasn’t like there was anythin’ too incriminatin’ on it — no, if anything, Winn was embarrassed by the lack of content on his phone. Save for texts and a couple time-wasters (and ESPN alerts, ‘course), he wasn’t glued to his phone and it showed. ‘Course, there were a couple’a… personal pictures (... and videos) on there, he wasn’t stuck in the Stone Age. Some stuff from his second time as a model, too. But nothin’, like Ricky had said, the man hadn’t seen before.

“An hour, huh? Want the windows down? It’s not freezin’, and headin’ towards Portland’ll take us along the coast for a little while. The Maserati, for all its beauty, smelled a little too much like fine leather and oil. He caught Ricky moving out of the corner of his eye, and tilted his head over just slightly, inclining one eyebrow as Ricky adjusted a bag. He caught the man’s eye for a moment, but knew he’d get shit for askin’ too many question and, besides— “Ten fucking thousand dollars on a called bluff.” When Ricky mentioned Winn being a wolf, smiling like he’d struck gold, Winn had to grin back, a little… wolfish. “Some werewolves,” he started, “are a big fan of artists, actually.”

He winked at Ricky, before turning back to face the road. “I grew up around some of the best art in the country. Didn’t always get it, but hear that’s not necessarily the point, and I usually enjoyed it regardless. And, well…” He coughed. “It, um, seemed important to you. And, like I said, not like my money’s goin’ to anything useful.” It felt like he was dodging a question, for some reason, but Winn had no reason to lie to Ricky. “The money thing just never… came up, especially since you refused to let me pay for your dinner.” And the werewolf thing… well. Ricky got why he hadn’t blabbed about that, he hoped.

“I have excellent… if eclectic… taste in music.” This was something Ricky normally listened to in the workshop as he was carving, but it seemed suited for an evening drive on his way to a date, so he’d just started the playlist up. His fingers rapped in time with the music, head bopping along as he enjoyed what was undoubtedly the most luxurious car he’d ever ridden in. The whole situation was weird. How dressed up he was, the car he was riding in, who he was riding in said car with… it was like watching pieces of a puzzle you thought you knew the solution to come together to be something entirely different and foreign. Not bad, necessarily, just… foreign.

“You know, it’s a pity we didn’t take your car… or my truck.” He withdrew a joint from his breast pocket, watching it roll around in the clear vial that kept it from making his suit smell like he’d just gotten out of a Phish concert, “We could have had a very relaxing drive down to Portland. But… as it stands… I don’t think we should hotbox a Maserati.” He put it back into his pocket as he listened to what was a very unsatisfactory answer. “Lots of things are important to lots of people, Winn. Doesn’t mean everyone gets ten thousand dollars.”

The man’s comment about werewolves liking artists made Ricky chuckle, and he squeezed Winn’s thigh, “Uh-huh. Well… all of that is a terribly unsatisfactory answer, but, I guess that’s the best I can hope for this early in the evening. I’ll have to get you good and liquored up over dinner, which is on me, by the way, and get you to spill all the beans. You can get drunk right? That’d be such a drag if you were going to be a sober Susan all night. We’ve got plans… and don’t worry about driving home. We won’t be going back until tomorrow.”

The leather hugged Winn, like an old friend it hadn’t seen in a while. He had the money to throw down on a car like this, sure, but he knew himself too well. The bikes got more use than his shitty car, and he shelled out enough to keep them in good shape in the Maine winter. He could drive a graduate student-level car. He didn’t mind. Much.

When Ricky pulled the joint from his pocket, Winn winced. “Ah, sorry about that, man. I just… my car’s a mess.” True enough, and Ricky hadn’t seen his car. Not like Winn thought he’d judge, except… well, okay, he probably would. But it wouldn’t matter to him. Winn knew that, rationally. “We always could. I have the car for the weekend,” he said, only a bit dubious of his ability to get smoke out of the leather. Winn hummed along as the song faded and the next started up, reaching a hand down from the wheel to brush a thumb across the back of the hand Ricky had placed on his thigh. Focus on the road and not the devastatingly attractive man sitting next to you, Winner. Ricky squeezed, and Winn groaned. Dirty pool, Cordero, he knew Winn was—

Winn started talkin’, half to respond to Ricky, half to distract himself from the warm hand on his thigh. “I’m not tryin’ to be cagey, Ricks. I didn’t… think much about it. I would’ve done it if you’d asked me outright, date or no. The ‘cue was that good,” he quipped. He tried to resist askin’ a question about their direction. “Pretty presumptuous, if you’re askin’ me, Mr. Cordero. You’re lucky you’re pretty, otherwise might not let you get away with that.” He snickered, unable to take himself too seriously. “But no, I mean— Yes. I can get drunk. Takes me a minute longer than other folks, and, well, you’re responsible for bringin’ out drunk Winn. He’s a little… handsy. So is sober, Winn, though.” He moved his hand that had been on Ricky’s to give the other man’s thigh the same squeeze, hand a little further down than Ricky’s had been. “But I’m happy to be here, with you, y’know? Money or no. You make good company.”

Ricky caught the wince as Winn looked over at the joint in his hand, “You have the car for the weekend but I don’t think there’s a detailer talented enough to get the smell of good weed out of the fine-ass leather of this car. Don’t worry though. There’s gonna be plenty of time for that later.” Winn’s hand rested on the back of his own and the silence stretched out for a moment; in the momentary lacuna between songs it seemed extra quiet, but the music kicked up again, the same gentle song by KALEO that he used as his alarm in the morning, and that long long moment lapsed into the moment after, and then the moment after that, “I didn’t think you were being cagey.”

He laughed, removing his hand and looking at his phone to make sure they were still headed in the right direction, “If I thought you were being cagey and just trying to slum it with us “normal” low-class folks I wouldn’t have been as chill, but, your finances are your business and yours alone.” It wasn’t like Ricky had been particularly forthcoming about his own level of wealth. While he wasn’t even close to the same tax bracket as Winn it was unlikely he would ever truly want for anything.

“I don’t recall you complaining about my level of presumption when I had you bent over my washing machine the other week! But since I’m already acquainted with how handsy sober Winn can be, I think I’ll take my chances with Drunk Winn too.” Winn’s hand squeezed his thigh and he shot him a wicked smile, “Now who’s presumptuous? And we’ll see if you sing that same tune when you see how the evening unfolds. You might regret purchasing this date afterall.”

“If anyone suggested I was “slumming” it with you, they’d get a laugh and a punch ‘cross the face. Laugh, seein’ as how you look like a million bucks. Deckin’, ‘cause I’ve known too many rich assholes to have the patience for that shit.” Winn grimaced. “Not even a full moon week and I’m talkin’ about throwin’ hands. Must be somethin’ in the water.”

He listened attentively, only sputtering a little when Ricky mentioned their escapades again. “Ricky, there’s not a whole lot you could say that’d make me regret this, and, ‘sides, it seems like I’m already gettin’ my money’s worth. And you’ll forgive my rudeness if I remember holdin’ you up by your ass and spreading you open against your dryer a little better. Hard to forget, that.” Winn ran his hand down the middle of Ricky’s thigh, and back up. Two could play at this game, long as Ricky liked. But… “You’ve got me all pent up about the night’s activities, can’t I get even a little hint? I’ll make it worth your while. You name the price.” He snorted. “Not money, though, think I should keep a little around for a rainy day.”

Winn took a glance out his window, at the smattering of stars casting their light on the water. The tinted windows of the Maserati ruined the effect, just a little, but it was still a sight to behold. “It’s beautiful out, isn’t it?” he asked, more to himself than to Ricky. It was hard, had been hard, when he’d been in Europe, to remember to take the time to appreciate the simple pleasures in life. To slow down. Way this night was goin’ so far, he figured it was a good time as any to take every moment in.

“Oh, we all know hanging out with me is slumming it in the best way.” Ricky chuckled, acutely aware that he lived a life of privilege; from his financial comfort, to his social comfort, even to his supernatural comfort. He was reminded, again, that he hadn’t seen or talked to Skylar since their last unfortunate meeting, and a cloud passed briefly over his face, one he quickly strove to erase as he laughed. “Do you get a moon period? Are you super moody right before the moon. Do I need to start stocking up on ice cream and chocolate to throw at you as we start to approach a full moon? Maybe a heating pad and a nice romantic comedy to tide you over?”

Winn’s incredibly detailed recounting of the last time he’d been at Ricky’s house made him flush a scarlet that he was glad was mostly hidden by the car’s dim interior, “Uh huh. You would remember that. Pity I don’t have security cameras. Would have been one hell of a home movie.” His laugh overrode the music for a moment at Winn’s comment, tutting gently, “Oh… you’re going to be a helluva lot more pent up before the night is through, Winn. Don’t you worry… I’ve got a lot planned for us. You’re going to be getting your money’s worth, and a night you’re not going to forget.”

It was an abrupt change in Winn’s tone that accompanied the comment about the beauty around them, and Ricky nodded slowly, “Take exit seventeen up here. But yeah. It is. You know I’ve lived here my whole life… only been outside the state a couple times, and only outside the country once. But still I think Maine is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. I love it here.”

Winn groaned. He’d been a big fan of chocolate, before the transformation. He could have a little, on occasion, but he tried to resist, hoping eventually he’d forget how it tasted — like vegetarians always claimed they did with meat. There was a solitary container of M&M’s in the freezer, for when he broke and just needed it. “No chocolate, please. We’re — some werewolves — allergic to it. Dog problems, y’know?”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “But, uh… Yeah, I get… grumpy, but mostly I get out the aggression on the ice. We have… other needs, too. Fightin’ and fuckin’, the werewolf story. If you give into one, you can usually mitigate the other. Since I’m not gettin’ laid every day of my life, I bury myself in burning out the wolf in practice the days ‘round the moon. Go punch trees, be the world’s worst karate stereotype.” He let Ricky talk for a moment, watching for the exit he’d mentioned, only stopping him to joke — “Record me any time, bro, I look great on a camera, I can show off for you.” — and to snort a little at Ricky’s own humor.

Winn took the exit as Ricky talked about his feelings for Maine, letting out a small sigh and deciding to chance a bit of the rawness Cece had (sort of) complimented him on. “I… miss my home, sometimes, y’know? I never thought I’d leave, really. Down south is different, all mountains and valleys and folks who’ll shoot your face off — though, glad to be away from them, uh, mostly. But your home helps me forget about that. A lot, actually. Don’t know if I’ve ever said it aloud, but I don’t know. I… think I could see myself finding a home here.” His voice got quiet, buried in the music thrumming through the car, “I hope.”

Winn cleared his throat. “Could also go traveling the world, though! Y’ever been to Europe? Lots of good food, good people!” He laughed a little too loud, he thought, but maybe he was overthinking it. It’s not like he was tryin’ to hide from Ricky, but, well, maybe Ricky wasn’t the only person who thought he could scare folks away.

Ricky bit his lip for a long moment, taking several deep breaths and steepling his fingers in front of his face. “I am going to try really hard to be respectful here, really very hard… But… you’re telling me… you’re a goddamn werewolf… And you can’t fucking have chocolate.” It took every single iota of control that he had not to laugh hysterically at what seemed to be the funniest bit of supernatural carryover. “That’s… That’s a very interesting bit of dietary restriction and I will be sure to keep that in mind when I order for us this evening.”

Several deep breaths later and he had the urge to laugh entirely under control. “Well you know if you had to be any karate stereotype, you picked a good one. You could have been “weird divorced dad who’s a strip mall karate instructor” and that’s just not a fucking good look for anyone. You can smell the desperation on that one a mile away.”

He listened, carefully and silently, as Winn very uncharacteristically talked at length about something that seemed very personal and sincere. It was a good look for him. When he finished, and Ricky was sure he had finished because he didn’t want to interrupt that particular bout of sincerity, he nodded slowly. “Once. My parents are… or were… or I guess are and were…” he paused for a moment, parsing out the grammatical accuracy of the statement he was about to make, “Actually you know what, it is were. My mom’s dead and my dad moved back. Anyway. My parents were immigrants. My mom was from Ireland and my dad was from Venezuela. So, after I graduated high school… Like literally several hours after… I got on a plane and flew out to meet my mom’s family.”

He paused again, looking ahead at the several conversational roads that diverged in front of him, “My mom’s clan. With her dead, I was the only Selkie left in White Crest, that I knew about, and books can only teach you so much. So…. I spent three months before my freshman year of college in this fucking TINY little fishing village north of Galway. Didn’t speak English til I came back to Maine, just learned… Everything. That I didn’t know about how to be what I am. So… in a very long winded answer to your question… yeah I’ve been to one very very small rural part of Europe once.”

“I appreciate your restraint,” Winn deadpanned, knowing how his chocolate problem sounded, after he’d said it aloud. Ricky was clearly trying to phrase it as delicately as possible, and he did appreciate it, but… c’mon, it wasn’t that funny. There were theories about why the chocolate allergy carried over were varied, and some lucky assholes didn’t even have to deal with it. He snorted at the assessment of stereotypes, quipping a short, “Yeah, that’s not the kind of thing I want people to smell on me, y’know?” One small turn apparently deserved another, and Winn cocked his head to the side, trying to make as much eye contact with Ricky as was possible while still keeping an eye on the road. Luckily, and maybe surprisingly, the road that Ricky was leading them down was fairly clear of cars.

“I, uh—” he started. He knew from his classes, and personal experience, that Ricky had just divulged some fairly deep information, including information about, well, the secret to end all secrets, right? Winn sounded the word “selkie” out in his head while he thought about his response, racking his brain to figure out what that could mean. He thought back to the late night texts Ricky had sent, wondered if he’d meant to tell Winn. Winn wasn’t a guarded person, not really, but he had… the impression that Ricky was, that maybe Ricky being honest with him was something precious, to be cherished. “My father was an immigrant, too. Raised in Singapore for most of ‘is childhood, till his parents decided to send him to the States for college, told him not to come back. I… always appreciated what he did, I guess, for me. Ma was the granddaughter of a coal miner, daughter of a “self-made man” type. Neither of them were werewolves, don’t know I am. Don’t speak to them much.”

He paused, considering how best to say this, not wanting to come across as callous, but knowing, if Ricky’s mother had died before Ricky graduated from high school, that going too far into the “gentle hands'' school would be, maybe, offensive. Grief stung, but pity stung worse. “I’m sorry about your mom,” he settled on. It wasn’t enough, but was there ever anything that could be?

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what a Selkie is. But I’d like to hear more about it, if you’ll tell me. No pressure. Just… from one shifter to another, I know it can be… weird, reconciling two parts of yourself. Not to, um, assume that’s your experience. I know…” A pause. “... friends o’ mine, who don’t see it as two halves. And for me, for someone who chose this life, I know that I usually feel… more free, when I’m the wolf. Wouldn’t say happier, jus’... freer.” He tentatively put a hand on Ricky’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “And thank you. Know that maybe sounds weird, but… I wasn’t lyin’, I do want to get to know you better, Ricky. Whatever parts you want to show me. So, I’m grateful.”

He glanced at the clock on the dash, doing some quick mental math. “And let me know if there’s another turn I should be lookin’ for. Seems like maybe we should be gettin’ close? To… wherever.” He left his hand on Ricky’s shoulder, waiting for the other man to tell him to move it, or lean in, or do whatever he needed to do. Winn was a hands-on kinda guy, in more ways than one. His words were good, but his actions could speak louder, he thought. He waited.

“Well, I guess I’m going to have to call the restaurant and tell them to cancel the chocolate fountain I ordered for dessert.” Ricky was only human… ish… and he could only maintain so much composure upon hearing that his werewolf date for the evening had a legit dog-like chocolate allergy.

To his credit, Winn managed to make it very, very clear that Ricky’s story held his full attention, and the road only part of it, as Ricky laid out at least the framework for the story about what he was and where he’d come from. When he’d finished, Winn started his own story, and it helped Ricky at least start to put the puzzle pieces together of what the man behind the frat boy bravado was like.

He couldn’t help but laugh, however, when Winn admitted he had no idea what Ricky was. “We’re not terribly common. Especially in America. We tend to stick to the UK where we’re from originally. As far as I know, after my mom died I was the only Selkie in White Crest for over a decade. But… we’re shifters, like you, but instead of a wolf, I’m a seal. Born a seal, first turned into a human when I was about two. We’re at-will shifters, as long as we have our skin, so I’m not chained to the whims of the moon like you are. Take a left up here on Hall.” He pointed to the intersection in question and then scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“I never really… I came into the shifter thing at an advantage. We’re born, not made, and I was lucky enough to be born to a family where it was all really commonplace and ordinary, so I never really had to go through the whole ‘duality of identity’ crisis that I know a lot of shifters do. I am a seal, who can turn into a human. That’s just me. I’ve got bigger problems than trying to work out how to wrap my head around that, you know? That’s just… The boring and average part.”

As the car made the turn and he looked at the map on his phone a wolfish smile started to creep its way across his face. “Then up here you’re gonna take a right onto Congress. After about… looks like a mile… the place we’re headed should be on the left. I think you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Well, I’m clearly not the best educated wolf on the block. No one mentioned anythin’ other than werewolves, ‘fore I got changed. Selkie,” Winn started, trying the word out in his mouth again. “Seal. Got it. But, dude. That’s so fuckin’ rad. I don’t, uh, mean to, like— I just, it’s cool to not be the only supernatural thing out there in the big wide world. It’s cool that you’re a part of this, that I mean… that we don’t have to hide that shit between each other?” He felt a light flush rise to his cheeks and ears. “Um— Uh, but—” What the shit, Winner, get your act together.

“We do both have a connection to the moon, though, right?” he tried, grasping at something else Ricky had mentioned to pivot the subject. Moon. Okay, he could talk about the moon. “Don’t know much about seals either, but ocean tides must be somethin’ you’re aware of, I can’t… like, imagine that, if the moon looks at the sea funny, that wouldn’t change somethin’ for y’all? Swimmin’ patterns? Where the good fish are? Same for us ‘n deer or other forest grub. I mean, stop me if I’m totally off base.” He took the first turn. “Wish it was out tonight, really. Not gonna rise till after 3, I think. I haven’t looked at an almanac in a second.”

He took the next turn Ricky pointed out, driving down Congress and takin’ in the sights of Portland. He’d been down here a couple times, and it was a softer sort of city than D.C., but he liked it. “Ricky,” Winn said, turning to look at him fully for a brief moment, eyes soft in the dim light of the car. “Don’t really think there’s much ‘boring’ or ‘average’ ‘bout you, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.” He turned back in his seat, driving comfortably along, keeping an eye to his left for somethin’ that’d be… obvious. He cracked the window ‘bout halfway, to see a little better past the tint, and that’s when the smell hit him. Fuck.

Winn pushed down a little harder on the pedal, almost instinctively, headin’ towards the source of that smell. Eventually, his eyes caught on a low, brick building, with “SALVAGE BBQ” written on the side in what (Winn thought) was black-and-yellow lettering. He could kiss Ricky. Actually… Winn parallel parked the Mas and, with a big grin, unbuckled his seat belt and leaned across the middle of the car to plant a (oops, probably a little wet?) kiss against Ricky’s stubble, smiling against the other man’s cheek. “You’re a man after my own heart, you know that?” he said, a little breathy. Was he being too excited? He was prolly bein’ too excited. But, well, his metaphorical tail was waggin’. He leaned back over, open up his door. “Bro,” he said, reverently.

“I mean… You still very, very much have to hide this shit, but not from me.” Ricky gave Winn his patented heart melting crooked smile, laying on the charm extra thick as he listened to a blushing Winn navigate his way through some moon logic. “Mmmmm. Maybe technically? But the moon has no practical effect on my day to day life. I can change during any phase of it, and my sense of smell is so acute that I always know where the good fish are. I think the closest connection to the moon I have is that it’s safest for me to change at night, so I’m just used to swimming around by its light.”

He let the conversation trail off a little as they neared their destination, watching Winn carefully. The minute the man cracked the window, Ricky knew he’d figure it out; if he could smell the bbq with seal sense then Winn definitely could with werewolf scent. Sure enough, Ricky could swear he saw Winn’s ears actually perk up when he caught the scent and sight of the building they were approaching. “I’m pretty and dumb, but did you really think I was making us get all dressed up for some fancy ass shit? Nah bruh, that’s a bait and goddamn switch right there. So congrats, we’re gonna be the only two people in three-piece suits up in what has been lauded as Portland’s best bbq place.”

He laughed at the excited kiss planted on his cheek before getting out of the low sports car, feet crunching across the gravel as they walked towards the door. “Sit, boy.” He pointed to a nearby table with “Reserved Cordero” on it before walking over to the counter, “Yeah hi. I called ahead earlier. Cordero. We had two Meat Fatalities, quart of collard greens, quart of mac and cheese, two sides of the BFFs, large order of hush puppies, and three orders of pickles. Could I also get two waters, two of that bourbon barrel-aged stout I see on tap, and about a whole roll of paper towels? We’re gonna need it.” He carefully balanced the beer and water as he wandered back over to the table, setting them down and grinning, “I ordered enough food for about fifteen people. So. I hope you came hungry. This is only stop one. Gotta fuel up.”

Ricky had a real nice smile, Winn thought. One that Winn wanted to keep puttin’ on the other man’s face; after all, he had a whole night to do it. So, he’d been wrong about the tides affectin’ Ricky. Big whoop. He had time to learn the ins and outs (... and ins and outs) of selkie biology. He’d picked up what he needed about wolves, easy enough. “You’re a goddamn menace,” Winn said as Ricky explained his plan, “... but one who’s got me pegged pretty well, it seems. This is the shit.” Winn’s laugh was big and full, enough so that a pedestrian looked over for a moment in concern. But fuck that dude, he was having fun.

The inside of the place reminded him a little of the campgrounds that the National Park service had set-up through the Shenandoah — long picnic tables situated against the windowed wall, smaller tables set up throughout, a little dinery, a little rough-’n-tumble. “Sit, boy.” did things to Winn that he’d be ashamed to admit in polite company, sending a pleasant shock up his spine. The wolf felt what Winn felt about the whole affair, but more… primally. Winn sat down, shifting his suit pants while Ricky’s back was turned and hoping like hell a wannabe Karen hadn’t seen him pretty much fondlin’ his dick underneath the table. He had a reputation to keep in tact, damn it.

He heard bits and pieces of what Ricky had ordered for them, wiping the mental (and, frankly, physical, whoops) drool away from the side of his mouth. Winn hadn’t eaten since that morning, to be prepared for whatever the date might entail — a ten-thousand dollar fuck far from out of the question. Mentally, he made a deal of sorts between the two halves of himself. No, you can’t just shove your face down in the meat and go to town, that’s gross. Yes, if you aren’t satisfied, I’ll coax the beautiful seal man into another helpin’. No growling, no matter how hungry or horny you are. Just… don’t. Non-wolves think it’s weird.

When Ricky mentioned the sheer amount of grub he ordered, Winn just grinned, too delighted for words. He took a long pull of the stout that Ricky had gotten, the oakyness slidin’ down his throat just right before respondin’. Leaning across the table, reminiscent of the first date they’d had, Winn said, at his usual volume (which is to say, slightly above an inside voice), “What’s our plan of attack here, Ricks? You’re the ‘cue master, you’ve gotta guide me. Teach me. Tantalize me.” A wink and a smirk, as was his typical choice when bein’ forward on purpose. “And if this is only stop one, I can’t wait to see what comes next. Bet it’s a big ol’ secret, though, huh?” He leaned back in his seat, head cocked subtly to the side, takin’ in the smell of the ‘cue… and of Ricky, the wolf waggin’ its tail happily, at peace with itself — with himself.

It was infinitely edifying to Ricky to see how much he’d hit the nail on the head with both his restaurant choice and his date choice. He’d gone through a lot of options in his head; high brow weekend in New York, drug and booze fuck/game fest in a cabin by the lake, renting a boat for a moonlight sail, the options had been many. But in the end Ricky had decided that none of them felt… Winn. He did know, however, that Winn had an eye and stomach for barbecue, and after some research had discovered this place.

A band played at the far end of the restaurant, some four piece local folk ensemble singing about ghosts in the woods, and he knocked his glass against Winn’s before taking a long drink of what turned out to be a pretty damn decent stout. He moved the various bottles of barbecue sauce around the table as he listened to Winn, “The plan of attack? Eat. Eat. More eat.” He looked over his shoulder to see no fewer than three waiters carrying their trays of food toward them, inhaling deeply as they set them down in front of them.

“Hey. Ricky doesn’t phone it in when he’s gotta take a dude out. This place has won like a million awards. And I know you’re serious when it comes to barbecue. And yes. It is a big ol’ secret and you know that. You gotta just roll with the punches tonight.” He grabbed one of the french fries and started nibbling at it, examining his sauce selections as he inhaled the smell of the barbecue in front of him. “I think I’m gonna start with chicken though. Because why the fuck not. Everyone loves chicken.”

They chowed down for a few minutes before Winn came up for air. He was making a conscious effort not to eat like, well, a wolf, but Ricky seemed to have his own appetite to sate. Protein would certainly play well, later… if the later that Winn envisioned came to fruition. The food was so damn good. “Damn, dude.” He looked at the spread before them, not even a little full, but in awe of the sheer amount of barbecue on display. The different sauces danced across his tongue — his favorite, a sweet Carolina with just a hint of vinegar. But there was a hotter one, a little more tangy, that was also right up his alley. The meat was all cooked perfectly, moist enough that it’d be great on its own, and not so moist that it didn’t take the sauce on, and the sides? Shit, Winn had never even been a collard greens person, and he’d kill a man for the recipe on display here.

“Bro…” He didn’t have the words to express just how much this was up his alley. “You really know the way to a man’s heart, and stomach. That’s for fuckin’ sure.” This was going to be a good night.